In His World.

The Night

The halls of these people's hideaway are bright; unlike the Painted People's base. My eyes are burning by the time I'm thrown into a white padded room and my mouth covering comes off. I grab the awful metal device and throw it towards the door. Seven ducks and it hits the man behind him in the face.

"Didn't know you had a violent side," Seven says as the door is locked behind him. He's rubbing jaw, looking only partially frustrated at the fact that we've been captured. Maybe this really is what he wants.

"I didn't know you did," I reply, images of the Hound's still body flashing in my mind.

"But you must have guessed, right? Assumed the worst? I mean, why else would the others be afraid of me?" he asks with a shrug, like we're debating sports and not the horrible events of the day.

Sports? Since when do I know anything about sports? Where is this coming from?

"I didn't assume anything," I reply sharply, trying to stick to the conversation at hand when a million other things are running through my head. Seven is walking casually around the room as I sit in the corner. He's not going to find anything. This. Room. Is. Empty. But at least the walls and floor are kind of squishy.

"Well, now you'll never need to," Seven says, walking straight up to me. He sits down directly in front of me, his white hair out of place but still, somehow, right. "Now you know what I am. What they call me. My classification. My 'gift.'" The last word is dripping with sarcasm and spite. The ability is not a gift. It's almost crude to call it an 'ability.'
It is an unholy power.

A curse.

"What do they call you?" I ask quietly.

"Mortem," he replies.

"Should I know what that means?" I ask. I have to ask - just in case it's one of those things that seems normal to know, but is somehow missing from my memory. Just in case it was lost in the Compound.

"It's an old Latin word," he says, tilting his head a little when he thinks. Sitting this close, I feel like I should have some kind of reaction - maybe even fear. But I like being near him. I'm not afraid. "It means death, or dead. They didn't really want to go around just calling me, 'Death,' because it might scare everyone. That worked well."

"I'm not scared," I say. I mean it. Ezekiel's eyes meet mine, and he ponders that for a moment. He doesn't remark on what I've said, resolving instead to stand back up and pace the room.

"They're planning on testing us," he says after a minute, "I want to gather as much information as I can, but if it starts getting dangerous, I can get us both out of here."

"So, we're staying captive when we could, technically, escape?" I ask, a little confused.

"Precisely," Seven agrees, "We don't know anything about these people - just that they managed to gain control of Two's internal Augdex stabiliser and could possibly do the same to the rest of us. Volsus Rah doesn't seem very sinister - twisted, maybe, but not intentionally cruel. We can use that to gain whatever information we can."

"We?"

"Five wanted to make you an operative," he explains, "Or a trainee, at least. And I've always been the trainer, so... welcome to your first session."

"But I can't do anything!" I exclaim, waving my injured hand. It's wrapped up in a bandage, but I can't feel it. Whatever the metal-faced thing in the helicopter has done is having lasting effects. "I'm just a human. I don't have super strength or speed or sight. I can't hypnotise people with my words or go invisible or do... whatever you do."